


A Viper's Love

by LiliesandSin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Draco redemption arc, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28314966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiliesandSin/pseuds/LiliesandSin
Summary: Hermione Granger is the most brilliant student at Hogwarts.The problem, to those believers in the purity of wizard blood, is that she's also muggleborn. Her success is creating waves within the wizarding world, and it frightens the oldest of the pureblood families. If she's capable of this much at thirteen, then what great- and terrible- deeds will she do as an adult?*When Draco is sent by his father to end Hermione's time as a student at Hogwarts, he finds himself conflicted. On the one hand, he's desperate for Lucius's approval, and would do anything for just a few words of praise. On the other, Hermione's done nothing wrong, and he doesn't comfortable trying to hurt her- even if he could.Hermione, meanwhile, is struggling with her own problems. Ron and Harry are growing more and more distant with her, and between the weight of her classes and the expectations of her teachers, she's beginning to drown.Over the next several years, they find themselves growing closer and closer, drawn together by the steady weight of fate and the many plots of Hogwarts...*An alternate universe in which Draco gets his much needed redemption.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	1. Intro

_Draco stood in front of Hermione. One hand held his wand in front of himself; his other stretched over Hermione, shielding her from the man in front of him._

_"Draco." His father's voice was smooth, like velvet on steel. He stood at the other end of the classroom. "Well, well, well. I would never have taken my own son for a traitor."_

_"Draco." Hermione's voice was soft. "Where's Harry?"_

_"I don't know." Draco didn't move. He couldn't think of a way out- not here, not now. In the castle, he could hear the cries of the death eaters, the screams of the students. "He's with Dumbledore."_

_"Why would you betray your own family?" His father was circling the two of them; his wand flicked up and down, like he was searching for an opening. He'd be hard-pressed to find one; Draco was very good at defending himself from offensive spells. "For a filthy mudblood woman?"_

_"Don't call her that." Draco's voice remained as calm as he could keep it. His voice shook all the same. "She's brilliant. She's the smartest person I know."_

_"Draco." Hermione's voice was soft- too much so for his father to hear. "Draco, when I say so, I need you to drop your wand. Make it look like an accident"_

_Draco didn't reply. He knew she knew he heard her, though. He replied to his father, pitching his voice low, like he was grasping for some kind of authority. "She's worth betraying someone as foul as_ you. _"_

_His father's face pinched. "You'll regret saying that in just a moment."_

_"Drop it!" Hermione hissed._

_Draco obeyed. He pretended to stumble- h_ _is wand clattered on the floor._

_For a moment, he thought Hermione had made a mistake. His_ _father laughed, and lifted his arm above his head to attack-_

_Hermione struck like a snake; her spell lit the room in a heavy web of lightning._

*

**_Four years ago_ **

Flourish and Blots was crowded, full of far too many middle aged witches. Draco watched them from the balcony, as they poured themselves around Lockhart, like bees around a queen, begging for even a moment of attention. The buzz of the crowd peaked when someone stepped out from among them; a dirty, ashy young boy that they practically swooned over.

It didn't take Draco more than a moment to recognize him. _Harry Potter._ The center of attention, as always.

It wasn't that Draco was jealous of him. Draco was a rich son of one of the oldest wizarding families- he didn't need to be jealous of anyone. But everyone _loved_ Harry- they bent over backwards to make him happy.

Sometimes, Draco had strange, malformed fantasies of being in Harry's shoes- of having people excitedly greet _him,_ of being the _boy who lived,_ of having that immediate attention and favor.

Certainly, it wasn't always good attention. Draco wasn't a moron. He saw how Snape treated Harry. But it was the rare teacher that treated Harry as just another student; even the ones who hated him gave him more time than the students they supposedly favored.

 _It doesn't matter_. He's _not a pureblood._ Draco sneered once in Harry's direction, and then turned back to his book.

The page Draco was on showed a basilisk. It looked ferocious; mouth open wide, fangs bared, ready to attack. His father had been eagerly talking about this kind of monster all summer; it was a strange interest for his father, but Draco was trying to keep up. Maybe if he learned everything there was to know about it, his father would be proud of him.

 _If I was a basilisk, I'd tear Harry to shreds._ Or, part of him thought, what if he _killed_ the basilisk- killed it heroically, standing on a rock, while a girl hid behind him, clutched at her bushy hair-

Draco pushed the traitorous thought to the back of his mind. Without thinking, he tore out the paper with the snake. He'd show his father later; maybe he'd even get a little present for being so studious.

 _Or maybe he'll smack me for disturbing him._ It was hard to tell with his father. He stuffed the paper into his pocket anyway and sauntered down the stairs.

*

His biggest accomplishment that year was getting into the Slytherin Quidditch team, with a little surprise help from his father. Malfoy was thrilled; watching as his father gifted broom after broom to the team was like getting his approval over and over again. _His father_ was proud of him; _his father_ wanted the best for him. It put a little boost in his step for a solid week.

Somehow though, Harry and his gang managed to steal the joy out of even that small victory.

It happened while Draco was following the rest of the Slytherin team to the courtyard. He was leaving the castle when he heard noises; as he moved closer, he realized that the Gryffindor team- and Ron and Hermione, for some reason- was in the field already, and arguing with the Slytherin team. It was rather stupid, since most of the Slytherins were much bigger than the Gryffindors, but also utterly unsurprising. No one ever said Gryffindors had much common sense.

 _Except Hermione, anyway._ Draco hurried a little to catch up with his team, just in time to hear Harry speak.

"Malfoy?" Harry was saying. "You made _Malfoy_ your seeker?"

"That's right." Draco hurriedly pushed past the other Slytherins, happily taking center stage. "And that's not all that's new. Take a good look." He moved his broom against his shoulder, a little bit proudly. His father had bought it for _him,_ after all.

"A nimbus 2001!" Ronald sounded impressed.

"That's right." Draco couldn't keep the gloat from his voice. "See, unlike some, _my_ father can afford the best."

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in." Hermione's eyebrows moved as she spoke, giving emphasis to her words; somehow, she managed to sound even more smug than Draco. "They got in on pure _talent_."

Malfoy was cold at first; then a deep _fury_ rolled through his body. She was talking about _Harry Potter._ She thought _he_ got in on talent. It was like she'd stolen all the pride he'd had in his father's approval. Without thinking, Draco moved in front of her and leaned forwards to speak, emphasizing his words.

"No one asked your opinion." He paused, letting it sink in, before adding, "You filthy little _mudblood_."

The gasps around him- even from a pair of Slytherins- told Draco everything he needed to know about the effectiveness of his words.

"You'll pay for that one, Malfoy-" Ron moved forwards, pulling out his broken wand- "Eat slugs!"

Draco stepped back instinctively, but he shouldn't have bothered. The spell backfired immediately, throwing Ron into the ground; Draco laughed half-heartedly as Ron began puking, but it wasn't really what he'd wanted.

If he was honest, he'd wanted Hermione- and Harry, even- to be impressed. With him, with his father's wealth, with his father's approval. Somehow, even this victory- watching and laughing as they ran towards the groundkeepers hut, trailing slime and slugs- well, it felt a little empty.

Ron might be an idiot, but at least he had friends.

*

It didn't take long after that for attacks to begin in earnest. It scared Draco, if he was honest; more so than he should have been, considering that he was pureblood; especially as he began to realize what the monster was.

_A basilisk. A giant snake that kills with its eyes, attacking the mudblood students._

Draco's father had _wanted_ this. But Draco was beginning to realize that he didn't want this at all.

For all his bravado, he didn't want anyone to die.

He stood in the library one night, watching through a gap in the bookshelves as Hermione studied. In his hands, he held the sheet of paper he'd torn out so long ago, at Flourish and Blots.

His father hadn't been impressed by his knowledge of the snake. In fact, he'd hit Draco across the face for bothering him. Despite that, Draco had held onto the sheet; he'd folded and unfolded it until it was softer than fabric. It was still legible; the snake somehow looked even more terrifying for all the creases in the paper.

_Hermione could fix it._

It was so stupid. Hermione wasn't any more equipped than he was. But she was _smart-_ she'd figure out, like Draco had, that it was a basilisk doing the attacking. And then she'd go further. She'd find a teacher, or take it to Harry Potter, or even take it all the way to Dumbledore- all the things that Draco's father would beat him for even _considering_. Maybe she'd even find a way to stop the snake herself; somehow, Draco didn't doubt that she could.

Hermione stood suddenly. She left her books on the table, and took off through the bookshelves; for a second, Draco thought she was leaving them behind. Then he realized that she was just taking a bathroom break, and he felt like an idiot all over again.

 _Now's my chance._ Draco waited until she was out of sight, and then darted for her books. He left the paper on top of her essay, and then hid again behind the bookshelves, waiting for her to come back.

It seemed to take her forever. Draco wondered briefly if he'd made a mistake- if maybe she'd just throw the paper away, not even consider what it could mean. In fact, he was about to go rescue his precious stolen sheet when he heard soft footsteps.

Hermione sat down. She picked up a quill to start writing again- then stopped above the paper.

She frowned at it disapprovingly. Draco winced; he knew that she would never approve of ripping pages out of books. All the same, she picked it up.

It took a heartbeat. Then another. Draco was wondering if he should have left a more obvious hint when her eyes suddenly lit up; as he watched, she grabbed a quill pen and jotted something down on the paper, before picking up another book and searching the pages.

A deep sense of relief flooded Draco. He slipped quietly away from the bookshelves to let her work, making his way from the library and back towards his common room.

It wasn't over yet. Not by a longshot. But Hermione was on the case- and he had no doubt that she'd figure something out.

Somehow, she always did.


	2. Lucius Speaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius is unimpressed with the attention Hermione has gotten from the ministry, so he encourages Draco to remedy it.

Two days before Draco left for Hogwarts for his third year, he and his father had a meal together.

This was a rare occasion, and one that he would normally be excited about. Most days, his father was too busy with work or socializing to spend time with him- but today, Lucius had nowhere to go, and had specifically asked to see Draco for dinner.

Draco's excitement about his father's attention died when he realized that Lucius was anything but happy to see him. Lucius barely looked at Draco as he entered the dining room; Draco could tell, however, that he was displeased. It was in how he cut the meat; a slight stiffness that someone unfamiliar with him might not notice.

"Father?" Draco was a little scared to speak. Outside, it was raining; the candles on the table were lit, but their light seemed to die against the dark colors of the Malfoy's family home. "You asked to see me." 

"Yes." Lucius gestured once. "Sit."

Draco obeyed. He pulled up to the meal and carefully picked up his fork and knife. "Have I done- have I done something wrong?"

Lucius picked up his tea. His eyes were as narrow as a snake's. "Yesterday, I learned that the ministry approved a project. A special project, involving a star student at Hogwarts."

"Me?" Draco spoke without thinking.

" _No_." Lucius's voice cut him down in a breath. "A muggleborn girl. She's about your age." He tilted his head. "Do you know who I'm referring to?"

 _Hermione._ Draco glared at the wood of the table. "I think so."

Lucius raised his eyebrows. "Continue."

"She's just a filthy mudblood." The words no longer seemed to have any meaning. He pushed around his potatoes. "She doesn't deserve the ministry's attention."

"But she has it." Lucius leaned forwards, just slightly. "And you... don't."

The silence grew heavy between them. Draco couldn't speak. There wasn't anything he could say in his own defense. He was a pureblood- his magic was supposed to be better, stronger than any muggleborn's! But somehow, Hermione was outshining _everyone_ in her grade, regardless of their heritage.

It was infuriating. Worse, he felt a strange conflict about her- strange feelings that his father would almost certainly disown him over. When he saw her, it was like someone had kicked him in the sternum; he couldn't breath, he couldn't think, all rational thought left his head. He wanted her to _notice_ him.

Even if when she did, it was with a haughty- and terribly clever- quip about how awful Draco was.

"I hear that they are considering fast-tracking her career in a few years." Lucius speared a small piece of meat almost delicately. He lifted it up and considered it for a moment. "They say it would be such a shame to waste a... _brilliant_ mind like hers."

Draco could feel the reprimand as sharply as if he'd been struck. He looked away. "I'll do better. I can do better. I promise."

"I certainly hope so." Lucius put down the fork, leaving the meat uneaten. "It's a sad day for wizardkind when a mudblood _girl_ manages to beat the most promising sons of the aristocracy."

Draco swallowed. Lucius stood then; he rested his hand on the back of his chair, facing Draco. "You know." His voice was soft. "It would be dreadful if something were to happen to that promising young mind of hers." He trailed his hand across the chair. "Hogwarts is such a dangerous place... so many accidents could so _easily_ befall her."

Draco felt cold. His face felt numb when he spoke. "I understand."

"Good." Lucius turned away. "Enjoy your meal, Draco."

When he left, the room grew cold.


	3. The Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco sulks in the Slytherin commons; Hermione studies in the Gryffindor commons.  
> *
> 
> This story is getting rapidly less and less canon compliant; I'm not completely sure what I'm doing with it, so I guess we'll see.
> 
> Content warning for cussing.

**Draco Malfoy**

_An accident._

Draco sat in the middle of the Slytherin common room, staring at the fire. It, like the rest of the room, was colored in soft greens and greys; it was almost burned out now, but not quite. He was almost alone; the only person with him was Goyle, who was- perhaps unfortunately- his best friend at Hogwarts.

"I can't just hurt her." Draco spoke without thinking. The fire was hot against his calves. "She's not worth it."

 _And besides- she's done nothing wrong. Nothing except being a brilliant student._ But Draco couldn't say that, of course- not even to Goyle.

"Why not?" Goyle didn't seem to be paying attention. His arms were folded; his eyes were glossed over.

"I just can't."

"But your father told you to." 

"I know that!" Draco's voice grew immediately hostile; he spun on Goyle, gripping the armrest of the chair. "Don't be a fucking moron, Goyle! Do you think I'm as stupid as you?"

Goyle shrank back. He looked at the ground. "Sorry."

The anger vanished a moment later, replaced by a profound kind of guilt. Draco sat back in his chair, folding his arms. "It's fine."

It wasn't fine. His father would be disappointed in him if he failed to follow through. It was about more than just one mudblood girl- it was about testing Draco, about checking his loyalties. Lucius expected the _best_ from him.

But Draco couldn't make himself follow through. Every time he saw Hermione, he felt that familiar heart-in-throat sensation; a deep kind of fear and happiness that threw him completely off balance. It was paralyzing.

Not that he could share any of that with- well- anyone. Not even Goyle cared that much about Draco; their only bond was that their fathers were friends.

 _And that we're pureblood._ Somehow, though, that seemed to mean less and less to him. He saw how Hermione and her friends got along; there was an ease, an honesty and genuine _care_ that was lacking in all of Draco's friendships.

It left him feeling... lacking.

And incredibly, incredibly lonely.

Draco folded his arms, and he glowered into the fire. It would be hell on him tomorrow to have gotten so little sleep- but somehow, that didn't seem to matter at this moment.

At this moment, all he wanted to do was disappear.

**Hermione**

_I should have been a Ravenclaw._

Hermione sat at a small desk in the corner of the Gryffindor common room, trying to ignore the roughhousing and laughter coming from the rest of her house. It was Friday, so most students were celebrating the weekend- at least, those students that weren't concerned about their grades.

 _I wonder if it's too late to transfer houses?_ Not that she would, of course, but sometimes, the prospect was tempting.

 _And with the way Ron and Harry have been acting, maybe it would be better if I did._ She squeezed the quill a little tighter. Ron hadn't been talking to her lately, and like always, Harry was taking _his_ side.

 _Ron's always attacking me over Crookshanks._ He was always blaming _her_ for his stupid rats disappearances; calling Crookshanks violent and vile and ugly. Hermione knew it was stupid to take it so personally, but it was hard not to; on some level, it felt like he was talking about _her._

Well, maybe Ron was right. Maybe Crookshanks _was_ ugly. But ugly cats deserved love too, and he was _Hermione's_ pet, and at least _he_ didn't get angry at the drop of a hat over stupid things that didn't matter! And why did Harry always have to take Ron's side? Was it because they were both boys _,_ or was there something wrong with Hermione-

 _Breathe._ The familiar hurt was back, and it wouldn't do for her to cry right now. No one would be sympathetic. Instead, she wiped her face discreetly, grit her teeth slightly and forced both of them to the back of her mind. Ron didn't matter right now, and neither did Harry; her studies, however, did.

She considered the length of parchment on the table. So far, she'd finished about half of the paper on werewolves that Professor Snape expected; if she was especially diligent, she'd finish it by tomorrow, giving her time to begin her arithmancy homework. 

_...Which is particularly good, since we weren't supposed to even begin werewolves until near the end of the year. I certainly hadn't planned for an essay about them._

She stopped writing suddenly. It _was_ strange that the professor had assigned the werewolf homework so early. 

It was also strange that he'd covered for Professor Lupin yesterday. Usually if a teacher was sick, classes were simply cancelled.

_It's like they planned ahead of time for this._

Hermione, despite herself, looked up and out the window. It was cloudy outside, and she couldn't see the sky, but somehow, that made her even more curious; almost without thinking, she picked up her planner and opened it to the calendar page.

_Full moon tonight._

Her body went cold, and then hot. But no- she was being ridiculous. Even if Professor Lupin was- well, whatever he was- surely even Professor Snape wouldn't be so _petty_ as to bring it to the attention of a class full of thirteen year olds. He was a _teacher_ after all, not an upset teenager with a grudge.

 _But it'll be easy enough to verify._ Hermione looked back up towards the window. _All I have to do is wait for the next full moon. If Professor Lupin is sick again, well..._

_Well. Then I'll know._

_Not that it's any of my business, of course._ Whatever else he was, Professor Lupin was a brilliant teacher, and clearly Dumbledore trusted him.

With that, she lifted her quill, sighed a little, and began writing the rest of her essay.


	4. Goyle's Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Goyle have a conversation about Lucius's plan for Hermione.  
> *  
> I've decided that, flying a little in the face of convention, these characters will have American accents, because the idea of accidentally mutilating a British way of speaking is- well- horrifying to me.   
> Again, we're rapidly moving away from canon-compliancy; it's only going downhill from here.

**Draco** ****

"Your father will beat you if you don't do _something_ ," Goyle said.

"Shut up, Goyle." Draco glared up from his plate.

The two of them were in the Great Hall for breakfast. Heavy clouds rolled across the roof, and every few minutes, thunder rumbled. The especially loud ones sent a wave of shrieks and giggles across the tables- even, occasionally, the teacher's.

"You know. About _her._ " Goyle gestured with his chin across the Hall.

"Shut _up,_ Goyle!" Draco snapped. He wasn't terribly worried about _actually_ being overheard- it was far too noisy today- but like his father said, it was never wise to tempt fate.

"I mean Hermione," Goyle said.

"Goyle!" Draco threw down his silverware. "Was your father an idiot too, or did you come by it on your own?"

Goyle looked a little hurt. "You're not going to do it, are you?" He folded his arms. "You're _scared_ of her."

"Scared." Draco scoffed. "I'm not _scared_ of anything."

"You _are_." Goyle sniffed a little. "You get mean when you're scared."

Again, the fragile sense of guilt touched Draco. It wasn't hard to picture Hermione's reaction to their argument; she'd fold her arms and smirk, a little self righteously. _It's just pathetic that you treat your friends that way. No wonder nobody likes you._

"...I'm sorry, Goyle." Draco aimed the words at his plate. "I'm just under- under a lot of pressure, alright?"

"I know." Goyle didn't look at Draco either. "I could help you, though. If you want."

Draco felt a small chill run through his body. "What do you mean?"

"I could do it," Goyle said. "I know a-" his voice softened slightly. "A way."

Draco looked up, frowning. "And why would you do that for me?"

"You're my only friend," Goyle said. "I don't have any others."

"That's stupid," Draco said. "What about Crabbe?"

"He's..." Goyle hesitated. "Not very smart. Not like you."

For a third time, a stab of guilt hit Draco. It was becoming quite the affliction, apparently. He drank a little bit of juice, deciding how to reply; Goyle waited patiently, arms folded.

 _Like my own private goon._ Draco put his glass down and spun it a little. _What would father say?_

"You know what?" Draco finally said. "Fine. Knock yourself out. Or, knock her out, as it were."

Goyle nodded very seriously. "I will." He stood as he spoke; the chair scraped loudly against the floor. "Your- your father's going to be very proud of you."

Draco looked down at his glass as Goyle left. Somehow, he didn't think Lucius would be very proud of him at all. He never seemed to be, even when Draco _tried_ to impress him.

 _It'll be fine. There's no way Goyle's going to succeed in hurting her anyway_ , Draco thought. _He's a fucking moron, going up against her._ He lifted the glass to his lips. _And there'll be other times to earn father's pride._

_...Right?_

It was like a shard of glass had lodged in his throat. Breakfast no longer looked appetizing; he put his cup down and quietly stood to leave.


	5. The Attempt

**Hermione**

Hermione was studying in the common room when she was interrupted.

Ron slammed his hands on either side of Hermione's paper. She yelped; a streak of ink fell from her pen to the table. "Ron!" 

"Scabbers is gone." Ron was shaking. "Your fucking cat _ate_ him."

"I-"

"He ate him."

The common room, for once, had gone quiet around them. Hermione's face burned. "I'm sorry he's gone."

"Because of _your cat_." Ron's voice rose slightly.

"But Ron-" Hermione's voice rose with his. "How do you know it was Crookshanks? He probably just ran away!"

"THE SHEETS ARE BLOODY!" Ron was shouting now; Hermione winced slightly, withdrawing. "YOUR CAT ATE HIM, AND YOU DON'T CARE! YOU DON'T CARE!"

"But I do care!" Hermione stood, folding her arms. "I _do_! But you can't just blame him-"

"Oh _yes I can-"_ Ron said.

"No you can't!" Hermione's voice was rising now; her face felt hot and itchy. "You're just guessing!"

"Then WHO LEFT THE BLOOD ON THE SHEETS?" Ron shouted. "WHO?"

"I don't know!" Hermione cried. "I don't know, Ron! Maybe he hurt himself-"

"Oh, _sure_ ," Ron said sarcastically. "He just hurt himself and ran away, did he?"

"Yes, that's exactly it!" Hermione snapped. "He's _alway_ s running off! If anything it's _your_ fault for not taking proper care of him! You're supposed to keep rats in a _habitat,_ not just let them run around wherever they please-"

Ron scoffed. "He's a _wizard's_ rat, Hermione! You can't just keep him locked up-"

"Well, this is what happens when you don't!" Hermione grabbed her essay supplies up, throwing them haphazardly into her bag. "I'm going! Tell me when you find him! Because you do! Every time!"

"He's dead, Hermione!" Ron yelled. "I'm not going to find him!"

" _Good_!" Hermione shouted back. "Now you'll have one less thing to yell at me about!"

Ron looked shocked; there were a couple gasps around the room. Hermione's face felt like it was on fire; before he could reply, she picked up her bag and left the common room as quickly as she could.

*

Once she reached the- thankfully empty- library, she poured herself into her essay. 

It was longer than it had to be, written in the tiniest letters she could, and _still_ not done. She was _getting_ there, though; she could feel that strange, fuzzy pattern in her mind, growing more and more clear the longer she wrote. It was easier to focus on it than her anger, or the terrible sense that she'd done something wrong.

But she _hadn't!_ Ron was _always_ yelling at her- and not just about Crookshanks, either. It was obvious he still thought that she was stuck up.

 _He's just jealous._ Her hand shook slightly; she removed it from the page quickly so she wouldn't accidentally cross out her work. _Jealous because I'm willing to do the work, and he just sits around making jokes with Harry all day-_

Harry, who was probably going to take Ron's side. She felt like she had in her first year- the same way, in fact, that she'd felt before Hogwarts. Her mom said that she cared too much about school, and not enough about people.

 _I care about people._ She stared at the paper, willing herself not to cry. _I just- I don't know how to talk to them._

" _Stupify_!"

Hermione gasped and spun, just in time to see Goyle propelled into one of the bookshelves. Harry was standing nearby, pointing his wand at him- hardly necessary, as it turned out. Goyle was clearly petrified.

"Hermione," Harry said. "Are you alright?"

" _Harry!_ " Hermione's voice caught. "Harry, what are you doing here?"

"Saving your life!" Harry snapped.

Hermione looked at Goyle again. He stared back without blinking; his arms and legs were locked together tightly. "But what _happened_?"

"He was trying to cast a spell on you," Harry said. "He was sneaking up behind you with his wand out."

Hermione folded her arms. It was strange to see Goyle without Draco; it was rather like looking at a car with no engine. _Just a pile of useless weight._ "Then we need to get a teacher," she said. "Right _now,_ Harry."

"He's not going anywhere." Harry put away his wand as he spoke.

" _Harry_." Hermione said. "Look. The librarians in her office- we'll just tell her."

"Okay. That's fine," Harry said. "But, Hermione- are you okay? Ron said you had a fight."

"Let's just- just get the librarian, okay?" Hermione started walking. "Don't worry about it."

"...If you say so." Harry sounded skeptical, but thankfully, he stopped asking.

**Goyle**

Goyle sat in Dumbledore's office. It was cluttered in the same way Goyle's room was- with strange artifacts littering every one of Dumbledore's many tables, piles of papers in the corners, and a small amount of ash piled in front of the fireplace. The stupendous charm had been lifted, but somehow, Goyle didn't feel any better. 

Dumbledore sat at his desk, and his fingers were laced together. In the five minutes they'd been seated there, he hadn't spoken. He seemed content to let Goyle sweat. Professor Snape- standing nearby, hands held together in front of himself- was equally quiet; he simply looked down at Goyle, like he was considering something disgusting.

Goyle, for his part, was too scared to speak. He wanted to _cry_ , he was so afraid. His Dad always told him that punishments at Hogwarts made the ones Goyle received at home look mild by comparison.

 _I just- I hope Dumbledore lets me eat._ Goyle's father didn't. He was always taking food away from him. The one time Goyle had complained, his father had just laughed. _"You're fat enough as is. You look like a little pig."_

It hurt to think about. Goyle slumped lower in his seat, avoiding Dumbledore's eyes.

"Do you know why you're here, Gregory?" Dumbledore's voice was soft, but it demanded Goyle's full attention. He looked up immediately. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

"Yes sir," Goyle said.

"And do you understand why what you did was wrong?"

Goyle didn't speak. He looked back down at the ground. He wished Dumbledore wasn't asking questions; he just wanted to get the punishment over with.

"Answer me, Gregory," Dumbledore said.

"Because..." Goyle looked away. His feet kicked like they were moving on their own. "Because it's wrong to attack other students."

"And why is that?" Dumbledore asked. It was like being nailed down by the eyes of a hawk; Goyle felt like Dumbledore was looking right through him.

"I don't know," Goyle mumbled. He scratched his arm.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually," Dumbledore said.

Clearly, Goyle wasn't going to get to leave until he'd answered. He sat up a little. "Because... it's..." he drew out the sentence for a long time; part of him was certain that if he didn't get the answer right, Dumbledore would hit him. "Because it would have hurt her."

"That's correct," Dumbledore said. "You were going to hurt her. But she feels the same things you do, Gregory. Her being muggleborn doesn't change that."

It was like Dumbledore had read his mind. Goyle knew from his parents that muggleborns didn't feel pain the same way. It was stupid to think otherwise.

 _Whatever Dumbledore wants me to say, I guess_. He kicked his chair uneasily. "Yessir."

"Hmmm." Dumbledore glanced at Professor Snape. "What do you think, Severus? Should we expel him?"

"I don't know, professor." Snape raised an eyebrow at Goyle. " _Should_ we?"

Goyle felt like he was expected to reply. He didn't know how, or what he was supposed to say. A cold sweat broke out across his forehead; he felt physically ill. There was no telling what would happen if he was expelled. His father might actually kill him.

Dumbledore stood. "You know his parents, Severus?"

Severus nodded slowly. "We've met."

"Then you know what I think," Dumbledore said. It all was uncomfortable for Goyle to watch; it was like they were speaking another language. What did Snape meeting his parents have to do with anything?

"You cannot be too gentle with him, professor. This kind of behavior is-" he glanced at Goyle and spoke with emphasis on each syllable. " _Unacceptable_. He _must_ be punished."

"I agree." Dumbledore adjusted his glasses. "Gregory Goyle. You will spend an hour every week in detention with madame Pomfrey. In this way, you will be given the opportunity to learn how to care for your fellow classmates." He looked at Professor Snape. "Is that acceptable?"

"One more thing," Professor Snape said. "He will also do two hours of detention with me, for a period of six weeks."

"Very well then. Detention with Professor Snape," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "Since that is all, you may go, Gregory."

"Wait-" Goyle said. He felt stupid as he spoke, but something was missing. "Wait. How many weeks do I detention with madame Pompfrey?"

"The rest of the year, of course," Dumbledore said. "Some lessons are too important to risk not learning."

"But that's unfair!" Goyle said.

"So it is." Dumbledore said. "So it is."

He didn't say a word after that; he just stood there, smiling patiently. Goyle slouched a little; it was obvious Dumbledore wasn't budging, and Professor Snape looked even less sympathetic. He finally stood. "Yes, Headmaster."

"Very well." Dumbledore gestured. "Off you go then. Don't want to be late to bed, after all- and don't forget to report to the hospital wing after classes."

 _This sucks._ Goyle didn't dare say so, though. Without a word, he stood and left the office, closing the door behind him.


End file.
